


Se7enteen

by BettlerWerdenFuerstenbrueder



Category: Se7en (1995)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettlerWerdenFuerstenbrueder/pseuds/BettlerWerdenFuerstenbrueder
Summary: Mills returns to a changed world.





	Se7enteen

"I can't excuse what David Mills did.  Hell, I was the one who brought him in.  But the first thing I did when I saw what was in that box was tell him to give me his gun, because, even as a lifelong bachelor, I knew what I'd have done.  What you'd have done.  What anyone would have done.

"All through the trial, I couldn't help but think of the photographer Eadweard Muybridge, who killed a man who knocked up his wife.  The judge went out of his way to tell the jury that was no excuse; they ignored him.  They interviewed the foreman, and he said they were judging him by a higher law, and couldn't convict him of what they would've done.  I have to wonder what that jury would have done with Mills.

"But that was a different time.  No, I can't excuse him, even if I can't imagine him doing anything else.  He deserved to be where he is.  But he doesn't deserve to stay there.  A lot of worse men have come and gone in the time he's been there, hell, have been born and died in the time he's been there.  He's paid his debt."

As Mills walked to the car, he instinctively kept his head down.  Somerset didn't question the fact he got in the back.  The two rode for miles in silence, but still, Mills had seemed to be struggling for something to say.  "Heard we had a black President," he said at last, about halfway to Somerset's apartment.

"Had."

"Eight years, yeah.  So who's President now?"

Somerset paused.  Mills laughed and punched Somerset's shoulder.

"Man, I'm just fuckin' with you.  Of course I've kept up with the news.  What the hell else did I have to do in there?"

"I'm surprised you didn't go nuts in there.  I hear they don't much like our kind."

"Yeah, I got some shit for being a cop, but most of the cops in there stole drugs or took bribes or some shit like that.  They liked me a lot better than them.  Hell, I think they might've even felt sorry for me."

Somerset sighed.  "I'm sorry."

"Man, it's not your fault.  You did the right thing, hell, you even tried to stop me.  It's that fucker, whatever his fuckin' name was."  After that Mills went silent.  In the rearview mirror, Somerset could see him bite his lip.

"So," said Mills.  "Donald fuckin' Trump."

"Donald fuckin' Trump," echoed Somerset.

"And I'd thought someone was fucking with me when I saw Roseanne Barr's in 2012."

"That's right; you still think of him as a clown, don't you?"

"Isn't he?"

"Well, the Germans call him 'den Horror-Clown.'"

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"What, like the fuckin' Joker?"

"One of the guys who played the Joker made a bit out of reading out his... short-form statements."

"Shit.  I've been gone a long time, haven't I?"

"Let me put it this way: I remember when we were working on the John Doe case, I came on the night crew in the library playing poker.  I prodded them then for the time they were wasting with all the knowledge in the world at their fingertips.  That moment has echoed in my head, stronger and stronger, ever since, maybe even more than you have.  All the knowledge in the world is at every fingertip now, every minute of every day, and they could not give the smallest damn."

"Shit.  And here I thought the weirdest thing'd be fags getting married."

Somerset laughed.

"No, the weirdest thing'll be that everyone under forty types like a goddamn stenographer, and they think you're illiterate if you can't."

Mills laughed.  "Sure."

As they talked, traffic slowed to a crawl, with police lights that could be made out in the distance.  One by one, the police stopped at every window.

"I'd better get my license," said Somerset.  He looked down at it.  "Probably won't have this much longer."

Soon two policemen were at the window, one at least fifty, the other maybe twenty-five.  "Detective!" said the older one.  "Been a while; don't think I need to ask if you've been drinking."

"I have not," said Somerset, handing the older officer his license.  Meanwhile, Mills was staring at the younger man's hands.

"Hey!" shouted the younger cop as the older returned Somerset's license.  "What're you looking at?!"

Somerset glanced down at the tough young man's thin fingers.  "Don't worry about it," he said.  The older cop nodded at the younger and waved Somerset through.


End file.
